Dawn opened her window, wincing as it squeaked. She froze, staring at her closed door as if expecting her sister to come running in at any moment. She slipped out of the window, clambering inartistically down the side of the house. Dropping to the ground, she smiled to herself, dusting off her skin-tight jeans and straightening her low-cut top. She took one last look at her window before sauntering across the road. Janice was waiting on the other side of the road, dressed in a mini skirt and crop top.
“You made it. Thought you weren’t going to show.”
“My sister’s been super weird since Mom went to New York. She’s, like, watching me every second.”
“Major bummer,” the other girl sympathised. “You okay to hit the Bronze?”
Dawn tossed her long brown hair. “No problem.”
……………………………………………….
Buffy yawned as she walked through the house. She’d been doing housework all day. Joyce had gone (was “left”) two days ago for some big gallery thing in New York and she wasn’t coming back for a week. Dawn’s response to this was to be extra annoying.
“Dawn, turn your music down!” Buffy yelled from the bottom of the stairs. Her only answer to this was an energetic guitar solo. She shook her head in defeat and stomped up the stairs. “Dawn, I’m going out.”
She went into her room and changed out of her housework clothes into more slayery type attire: a pair of black leather pants, a string belt, a purple tie-dyed shirt with long sleeves that flared at her elbows. She grabbed her stake and a black leather jacket, tied a long, purple scarf around her neck and stalked out of the room.
“Dawn! I thought I told you to turn that music down. Dawn!” She flung her sister’s bedroom door open to find the room empty and the wind coming through the open window, fluttering paper around.
She stared into the room, green eyes wide in disbelief.
……………………………………………….
“Bloody hell, you stupid blue-haired poofter. You can’t do that!” Spike sat in a tattered-looking leather armchair in front of his television, holding a game controller.
“I’ll give you a bloody ‘lance of atrophy’, you ponce.” He frantically mashed the buttons, causing a bright, blue light to flare out of the screen.
“Hey!” He looked annoyed. “I just summoned her, you can’t unsummon my..”
“Spike!”
“Balls!” He hit the ‘pause’ button, shaking his head. “What do you want?” He came face-to-face with a pissed off slayer. “Can’t you tell I’m busy?”
Buffy looked past him. “Uh huh, because God knows naked blue women are of the important.” She placed her hands on her hips.
“Wait a minute. She’s not naked.” He held his hands up. “That’s not… It’s a computer game.”
“The point is, Dawn’s gone. I need you to help find her.”
A look of worry came over Spike’s face. He reached behind him for his coat. “Nibblet’s gone? Do you think something’s happened?”
Buffy sighed. “I don’t know. It’s like, Mom’s been gone for two whole days and already I’ve screwed up.”
Spike wanted more than anything to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, to gently run his hands over the worry lines on her face and to take her in his arms and make her feel alright. He knew how ludicrous this was - and how dangerous. Instead, he pulled his coat on.
“It’ll be okay, I’ll help you find her.”
……………………………………………….
In a darkened room a cloaked figure grinned maliciously to himself.
“I call upon Arkhon, darkest dreams reveal. Open the doorway and deliver the warrior to a place of fantasy, a place of death.” The figure felt the power rush through him as candle flames shot into the air. Suddenly, he frowned.
“Wait a minute. ‘Fantasy’?” he reread the ancient text, a worried look on his face. He sat back. “Damn.”
……………………………………………….
“Just a minute pet. I need to put shoes on.”
Buffy realised he was wearing only socks and wrinkled her nose.
“Well, hurry,” she said as she walked over to the PlayStation, looking it over. “Hey, how do you turn this thing off?”
“Hold up! Don’t touch that!” Spike said, “I’m about to beat the snot out of Seymour.”
“Uh huh.” Buffy sounded sceptical. “What, you can’t be violent in real life so you have to play video games?”
As he pulled on his Docs, he noticed a strange glow coming from the screen.
“Hey, I told you to leave that,” he turned in time to see Buffy as she was sucked backwards, stretching and glowing, until the room was bathed in light. He ran towards the screen in shock. As he approached the television he felt a strange force pulling at his upper torso while his legs and feet remained firmly planted on the floor of his crypt. He felt as though he were being stretched in two. He hissed in pain, as it grew stronger and stronger, before the whole world went black.